Three Times Nathan Didn't Become A Brother
by Cadence
Summary: How in the world could Nathan not know he has another brother out there?


**Title:** Three Times Nathan Didn't Become A Brother (And One Time He Did)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairing:** none  
**Word Count:** 4300  
**Summary:** How in the world would Nathan not know he has another brother out there?  
**Spoilers:** S3 through 3x07 "Eris Quod Sum", although through the lens of some artistic license  
**Acknowledgments:** Thanks to **jin_fenghuang** for being a wonderful, completely soulless beta!  
**Disclaimer:** Heroes, and its associated characters and situations are the property of NBC Universal and Tim Kring. No profit is being made and no infringement is meant by their use.

1.

The first time his mother is pregnant, Nathan is four, and he doesn't recall much of it later.

He does remember thinking he is a mature four, proud of his buttons and pressed shirts, happy to exclaim his alphabet to any of the solemn but indulgent adults who wander into the mansion. They come for Ma and Dad, to listen, and he somehow knows they would listen to him too one day. He wants to practice.

There is a party, the whole house lit with strings of Christmas lights even though it isn't cold out yet, pink ribbons winding around the banisters and tied into bows. Weird, Nathan thinks, because he's never seen Ma wear pink, ever.

Nathan remembers a big pink cake, with thick frosting he scraped off to eat later. Mr. Nakamura catches him mid-scrape, and his loud laugh echoes across the dining room, drawing everyone's attention to him, making him puff up under the scrutiny even though he doesn't like it.

"What an excellently fastidious boy you have, Angela!" he said. Nathan doesn't know what that means, and looks to his mother. She is laughing, hand swatting at Mr Nakamura's shoulder, so he guesses that's good, even though Dad is frowning.

"He is special, in his own way," Ma says with a smile, her hand protective over her big stomach.

Looks are _important_, so Nathan eats his cake without the frosting and sets his fork carefully on the plate before walking over to a server and offering the plate to be taken away, feeling the amused eyes of the adults keenly. Despite himself, he scowls as he watches the waiter walk away. Giving up the good part doesn't really seem worth it.

When he's older, Nathan thinks it's the gloss of childhood, innocence distorting memory, but he's wrong. They really were smiling. They really were happy.

It doesn't happen that night. Nathan's pretty sure of that. It is days later, maybe weeks. Trotting after Anna and her promise of a pre-nap snack, he see Ma working in her office. Anna laughs a deep, throaty laugh and shoos him off to talk to Ma, telling him to mention the drawing he's working on.

He remembers the creak of the heavy doors as he pushes them all the way open, climbing into one of the big leather chairs across from Ma, talking about how Anna is letting him use the colored _pencils_ and not the crayons, because that's what artists do and she said he's a really good artist.

Maybe it's because he's excited, maybe it's because he doesn't really know what to expect of Ma because of the baby, but it takes a long time for Nathan to notice that she isn't listening.

Standing on his chair, he frowns angrily at her, "Ma! I'm talking! It's rude not to listen!"

"Nathan, don't shout," Anna reprimands gently from the door, plate of apple slices with peanut butter balanced in one hand. "Your mother is..."

She breaks off, looking close at Ma, before rushing over. She fumbles with the plate, dropping it as she reaches for Ma, shaking her shoulders.

Nathan doesn't remember how Ma looked then, at that moment, but his mind fills in the blanks. He knows how she looked the next time, and the next. It's very easy to imagine what the first was truly like.

He does remember Anna's voice breaking on the phone as she calls for an ambulance, how she picks him up and runs him up the stairs, ordering him to finish his drawing. He remembers watching Ma over Anna's shoulder, and noticing the pool of blood spreading under the desk for the first time.

Nathan visits Ma in the hospital twice before she comes home, but then Nathan still has to keep going to the doctor and he doesn't know why. It's not the same hospital, it's one that's further away, and they drive all the way out of the city to some place green to go there, but the room is the same crisp, blinding white as the room Ma had to stay in.

It's really, really tense the first time he goes. Ma and Dad keep _looking_ at each other like they want to yell, but they don't because Ma still looks sick. Which is what Nathan doesn't get. Ma is sick, so why is _he_ seeing the doctor?

"We're going to make you better, Nathan," is what the man with the funny accent and the little glasses said at the time.

Nathan doesn't understand until he meets Tracy.

2.

The next time Nathan is seven, and old enough to understand the fragility of it all. The house is filled with a tense and cautious air, difficult to breath in even for visitors who enter unknowingly.

A few months in, right when the baby starts to curve her body, Ma sits Nathan down and explains to him that he _may_ have a brother or a sister coming soon – although soon to her is not soon to him, and he pesters her the next week about why the baby is so late.

They don't decorate the nursery, or re-decorate, rather. Nathan knows better than to go into that room. Ma caught him once and slapped him hard enough for him to feel it the next day. The door is locked the couple of times Nathan tries it, thinking he'll get a peek at the new baby, before Dad hauls him away to punish rather than explain, and he finally understands that soon is ages away.

He asks, one night, when they are going to start buying things for the baby, and what they are going to name it, and is it a boy or a girl, and how do people know? Does a boy feel different?

Ma stills, lays her fork down neatly on the table, and glances to Dad, face paler than Nathan has ever seen it.

"We want to be sure," Dad says, without explaining further.

What he means is "we don't want to jinx this," but there's no way for Nathan to know that.

All he really knows is that it's probably a good thing they waited when three weeks later Ma suddenly isn't pregnant anymore and he hears her crying at night.

He goes to her one time, curls up beside her and tells her that he is still there.

And learns the hard way that is not enough for his mother.

3.

Nathan is nine and he understands very well now why they never talk about this. The Petrellis are good at secrets, and he has become good at keeping them. He knows about Dad's meetings with Linderman, he knows about the tarnish on the family name, and he knows God will take as much as He will give – the nasty secret the world keeps from itself.

He goes to school and plots trouble with his friends and has to stay in at recess now and again writing lines, but never often enough to really get labeled as one of the bad kids. Ma and Dad have plans for him. _He_ has plans for himself, and he knows that being a problem isn't how you get to the top.

There's the other reason too. Ma is in bed rest, because maybe that'll save the baby this time, and he goes to talk to her every afternoon after school, before a girl brings dinner in for them to all eat together. He doesn't really like it, Ma is too demanding and sharp and never lets him talk about fun things from school, but she'll be worse if he's late, so he definitely can't get into enough trouble to stay after.

She's getting big now, bigger than she was at the party with pink that he barely remembers, and that brings a sharpness to her tone that is harsh even for her.

"I'm not an invalid, Nathan!" she snaps as he tries to help her sit up in bed.

Nathan ignores her, letting his book bag slip to the ground to finally lever her upright. Ma lets out an angry, embarrassed huff of air, careful fingers pushing stray black hairs away from her forehead as she forcibly retakes her dignity.

"At least it won't be much longer, Ma," Nathan doesn't say, although it's what comes to mind. He bites his lip harshly as he tries to think of a tactful way of putting it, one that implies birth instead of death. An older Nathan would have to question which one he even meant, but he's not that cynical yet.

"Only a few more weeks, Nathan, and then you'll have a brother," Ma says, saving him the trouble. Her tone is one of eager anticipation, clearly for her own sake instead of his.

The Petrelli family library has always been light on kid friendly literature, so perhaps that is why Nathan knew at that age that bed rest used to be a punishment for willful women. That it used to drive them insane. He can't imagine how Ma has made it through this pregnancy.

Ma pats the bed next to her, and Nathan perches on the narrow edge as if she has left him plenty of room. Dad will come in later to sit next to her on the bed, so there's no point in taking that position just to get kicked out by his father.

"How was school?" Ma asks, longing borne of long term isolation coloring her voice.

There are many, many afternoons and evenings spent like this, and it's probably the closest Nathan ever is to his mother, when he's her lifeline to the outside world and even his petty, childish victories are worthy of her attention.

But there's a nastier side to those days, as there usually is in Nathan's family. Toward the end, there are vicious, whispered arguments that linger in the air as Dad stalks out of his mothers room before Nathan even arrives, strange afternoon after strange afternoon. Dad is taking time off of work, and Nathan doesn't know why, since it's not to prepare for the baby.

The nursery is aired out discreetly by servants, but is still unchanged, still decorated entirely in pink.

The silence that follows each argument is more charged, more deadly each time, and even Nathan can tell that they are hurtling toward something they can't turn back from. It's scary, because parents are supposed to be stable. They're supposed to offer comfort and make the world make _sense_.

Listening to their arguments in bed, now loud, filling out the empty halls of the mansion, Nathan misses Anna. But since she's not there, he prays. It's not that he wants this brother, although he does. It's that he wants the kind of family everyone else seems to have. The kind where people are happy, don't talk about the demands of the "greater good", don't talk about _sacrifice_ like it's the real god of their lives.

It's like his prayers have been answered when he visits Ma and Gabriel in the hospital for the first time. He asks if he can hold Gabriel – Gabe, he decides he will call him – and Ma is too tired to stop him. Dad helps Nathan to hold Gabe's head up properly, all the while staring intensely at Ma with an unreadable expression.

Nathan can hear them arguing again when he has to go to the bathroom: "You know what will happen, Arthur," and "I will _not_ make that choice, Angela. We have already lost enough!"

There's nowhere to hide except the small, weird tub with a seat, so Nathan gives up and goes back into the room. Strained smiles greet him when he asks if Gabe is coming home with them.

He doesn't. Not then, and not ever.

"Something was wrong with him. He couldn't breathe," Arthur explains shortly, and they don't talk about it again.

Nothing makes sense, and he gives up God because this is just too much taking. Isn't God supposed to give as well?

He asks that in class one day, and it's not the question that gets him kicked out of school even though he says that it was at fund-raising dinners and snide, closed door receptions later. It's more his obstinate refusal to believe that God may be good that concerns the nuns and then principal at his school.

Ma and Dad take him out of the school, and he spends three miserable days at home.

Boarding school is a welcome relief.

4.

Nathan is twelve. It's November, and Thanksgiving is coming up soon. There are notices in the dormitory and posted all down the classroom corridor reminding students who will stay the holiday instead of traveling home to get the proper paperwork in to the principal soon.

The school is in New York, a little town called Hartsdale, so Nathan can only look at the posters with longing. Dad's supposed to swing by after classes finish midday on Wednesday to pick him up.

Which is good, Nathan tries to tell himself, trepidation coloring even his thoughts. It's a little tough, going home after spending most of the year at school, with only occasional calls. Thanksgiving is always like a trial run for him, a quick crash course in how his family is that he can recover from before getting the full dose at Christmas.

And if extricating himself, if spending all year at school and never going home to deal with his parents is a lot more enticing than the roller coaster of acclimating himself to them and then school and them again... well, it's just that he's very goal oriented, right? Everyone always says he's so dedicated and focused, and naturally he'd resist anything that gets in the way of that.

He loves his parents. And that's why he's sure that they will understand if he maybe wants to stay and study during Thanksgiving just this once.

Nathan gets about halfway into a conversation with his father – yes, he's studying, no, the other boys aren't giving him trouble, yes, he'd like to hear more about Dad's new case – before he commits fully to asking. Best to do it at the end, easier to avoid awkwardness if Dad says no.

So he asks, and waits breathlessly, hand curled tightly around the receiver and knee bouncing up to hit the table the bank of student-use phones rests on.

"That may not be a bad idea, Nathan," Dad replies after a considering pause. He hesitates, and then continues, "It may be good to relieve some of the stress from your mother for the holiday."

It's been a few years, so Nathan asks blindly, "What does she have stress about?"

"The baby, Nathan. You're going to have a brother."

"Oh."

All the more reason not to go home. Nathan has to wonder at the due date; he knew his Dad wouldn't have brought the baby up if it weren't due soon. Ma wasn't showing when he left for school on Labor Day, but that didn't mean she wasn't pregnant months before then.

He needs more information to know just how hellacious Christmas will be.

Aiming for subtlety, Nathan asks, "So what do you think he wants for Christmas?"

Aside from living to be born, of course.

"I think you just being here will be enough for him. He's anxious to meet you," Dad says with a laugh that belies the expectant weight of his words.

"Right, Dad."

There's a little more chatter after that, and eventually Nathan hangs up the receiver, wishing he could put that conversation behind him, feel as free as he thought he would be if he got leave to stay at school during Thanksgiving.

He pouts for a long moment at the table, even though he's too old for it and military school isn't the best setting for that kind of behavior. But, honestly, what is he going to _do_?

"Sit up straight, cadet!" comes a sharp voice, cutting through Nathan's wash or worry.

"Sir," Nathan replies, sitting up and fixing the teacher, the officer, with a respectful gaze.

"What are you moping about?" he asks, this time with a sympathetic slant to his eyebrows if not his tone.

Nathan weighs the pros and cons of confiding in the officer – one he doesn't know – versus lying versus telling a half truth. Saying he's not wanted to the holiday would be enough to get the guy to lay off.

"Ma's pregnant again," he blurts out instead.

The officer smirks, and takes a seat next to Nathan, laying a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, is that all? I'm sure she hasn't forgotten about you," And Nathan can feel the physical jolt that is the officer's eyes falling on his name on his uniform. He watches as the man's eyes fill with the light of an entirely new understanding before he continues, "_Petrelli_. She didn't after your other brothers and sisters, did she?"

Nathan glares, annoyed at the assumption. He bites out a resentful, "No."

"Having a big family can be a good thing. How many siblings do you have? I'm sure there's room for one more."

Nathan shrugs off the hand, and looks deliberately into the officer's eyes, before giving him a wide, angry smile.

"I don't have any siblings, sir."

He walks away without saluting, and the officer doesn't stop him.

Dad comes to pick him up two days before Christmas, and Nathan still has no idea how he's going to cope with Christmas. Dad loads up the car, the driver is inside, keeping it running and warm, no hint on his father's face on what Nathan is going home to. Which is a good sign, right? It'd be obvious if Ma had lost the baby, wouldn't it? Dad would at least warn him.

He climbs into the back with Dad, coat snug around him and hands worrying the wrapping paper of the dumb little gift he caved and bought from the school store. It'll probably be better if he can't give it to the baby. Choking hazard, and all.

As soon as they settle in, Dad wraps and arm around Nathan's shoulders, kissing him on the temple before pulling back.

"There's something I need to tell you. Your mother is in the hospital."

Nathan stiffens in the embrace, and looks to his father accusingly, sharp ends of his gift nearly poking through the wrapping as he clutches it.

"You said..." he starts, but Dad didn't say anything. He never gave any promises.

But Dad laughs, "_Nathan_, let me finish. She's in labor. It's a little early, but the doctors are saying everything looks fine for the baby."

Still no name, Nathan notices.

The driver delivers Nathan and his luggage home, and Dad stays for an awkward, silent dinner before heading back to the hospital.

The entire house is professionally decorated for the holiday, in crisp silver this year rather than the more prosaic red and green. It's a little too sharp, not at all welcoming, in Nathan's opinion. He has trouble making his hand move, making himself kneel down next to the big, crystal ornamented fir tree when he goes to put the baby's gift there.

It's not the right place.

Nathan finds himself standing outside of the nursery, wondering if he's brave enough to go in and half wondering if there's even a room behind the door. It's more idea than reality. He hasn't seen the inside of that room for years. No one has.

In the end, Juanita decides for him, kindly ignoring his anxiety to sweep inside, babbling cheerily about the renovations they've done to the room and asking if he thinks the baby will like it.

"It's very... blue," Nathan says dumbly, hunched in on himself as he waits to get expelled from the room, even though there is no one there to do it.

Juanita laughs, and points to the gift he's almost hiding in his hand. "For the baby, yes? You are a very good brother, already!"

Nathan just nods. Juanita taps a lip thoughtfully, turning in a circle to examine the room. Finally, she points to the toy bin, covered with plush stuff animals the baby won't even play with for months to come.

"Why not add it to the bears?" Juanita asks.

"It's not really a toy," Nathan replies, but he adds the small package to the pile anyway, tucking it into the embrace of a teddy bear.

Nathan goes to bed but not to sleep that night. He hears every creak in the house, every footstep, and excepts at any second to hear the shrill ring of the phone with bad news. He's exhausted the next morning when Juanita rouses him, and he dresses in his best, only half aware of her reasons why.

Which is why he's shocked to come downstairs and find Ma waiting for him, baby in her arms.

"Come say hello to Peter," Ma beckons softly, strange, vulnerable cracks in her facade that Nathan will learn are reserved for his brother.

Nathan's hand clutches the banister, and he shoots a panicked look over to Dad, who nods, a noticeably less charmed expression on his face that Nathan finds strangely comforting. He's not quite sure he can handle this "Peter" being a person yet, let alone one Ma loves.

He takes the steps slowly, but ends up looking into the face of a tiny, pink baby far sooner than he expects. Peter's smaller than Gabe was, but Nathan remembers Dad saying Peter was early. His eyes are wrinkled shut, but open when Ma shifts him in her arms to give Nathan a better look. They open a dark blue color, wide and staring right at Nathan.

"They'll darken to our color," Ma says.

"Oh," Nathan says, because he didn't know eyes could do that.

The moment that follows is long and unpleasant as Nathan tries to think of something to say and Dad shifts impatiently. Ma doesn't seem to notice, enamored with the new baby, smiling and ducking down to kiss his forehead before tickling his nose with the blanket he's swaddled in.

Finally, Dad breaks the silence, "Great Christmas present, eh, Nathan? But I don't think there's any room left under the tree."

Nathan gives a half hearted smile, and Ma's head jerks up immediately to glare at Dad.

"Well, before you try to make him fit, I think I should take Peter to his new room," she says stiffly, already half way up the stairs.

It's easy to join Dad in indifference to Peter, it makes Christmas go more smoothly. Ma spends time with the baby, in and out of the nursery, talking happily with Juanita as they swap shifts with him. Dad works in his office while Nathan reads quietly in the corner, occasionally calling Nathan over to explain an obscure point of law he's researching or quizzing him on what they talked about the day before.

At night, though, he sneaks into the nursery to listen to Peter breathe. Gabe couldn't breathe, that's what Dad said, and Peter looks even weaker than Gabe. Nathan just doesn't trust that he'll make it.

He doesn't know why he wants to be there to see it. Maybe so it'll be more real, although if Peter isn't real, why does that matter? And he's not. He's not going to make it so Nathan won't make him real.

Most nights Juanita rouses Nathan from a half sleep, and hustles him out of the room, back to his own bed. And then, one night, she doesn't. Peter wakes him.

He's making a soft sound that's halfway between a hiccup and a cough, and all too close to _choking_ for Nathan to sleep through. Bolting from the soft, too big chair he keeps vigil in, Nathan is at the crib instantly, hands reaching out and then pulling back as he tries to figure out what the hell to do.

Peter looks angry, but not sick, even though he keeps making _that sound_. Peter settles what Nathan has to do, though, when that hiccup becomes an earsplitting wail.

Nathan snatches Peter up instantly, eyes searching widely for a bottle in the dimness. Of course, there isn't one. It's the middle of the night, and it would be completely unsanitary to keep unrefrigerated anyway.

Next, his eyes flick over to the little walky-talky baby monitor. Juanita or Ma or even _Dad_ surely heard that, and they'll be over soon to deal with it. In the meantime, he's just got to keep from dropping the squalling baby in his arms. He's pretty sure Ma would kill him on the spot for that.

Acting against instinct, he pulls his arms in and cradles Peter close, wincing in expectation of the cries next to his ear. They don't come, and instead Peter settles into comfortable gurgles against Nathan's shoulder. His hand comes up lightly on Peter's hair, going for support and eventually just stroking the fine, thick black hair on his brother's head.

They stay that way for a long, long time.

At some point, the door opens and a flood of light blinds Nathan. When his vision returns, he sees the small silhouette of his mother standing there.

"Is he okay?" she asks.

Nathan tilts his head, looking at his little brother's face, listening to the little of huffs of sleepy air coming out of his mouth.

"Pete and I are just fine, Ma."

She nods once, and then closes the door again, leaving them both in the quiet dimness. Nathan follows not long after, putting Pete back to bed in his crib with a quick kiss of his forehead. Before he goes, he retrieves the little gift from the bear and unwraps it.

He pins the little replica flight wings to Pete's crib, and goes to sleep soundly in his own bed for the first time in years.


End file.
